Pot of Coffee
by NorthStar65
Summary: Elizabeth saves Peter yet again. A set of short stories inspired by Peter's love of coffee, some Italian roast and one man's quest to have other people make a pot of coffee.
1. First Pot: Elizabeth

I love the scene in 'Book of Hours' where Peter empties the already empty coffee pot into his cup and then stares forlornly at it. Lauren shows up and takes it from him. It is just too cute. So, this is a very short story that came as the result of re-watching that episode.

* * *

El heard the noise and stopped, foot halting in mid-air, toes just touching the next step. Nothing. She advanced further down the stairs and slowly eased into the darkened hallway stopping just outside the kitchen door.

"Peter?" she whispered out.

She could hear the faucet turn on. With care she pushed the door open just enough to peer into the kitchen. There stood Peter, socked feet, flannel lounge pants, grey t-shirt, brown hair standing up in all directions, and a half-full coffee carafe in hand. He startled at her entry.

"Oh" a pair of brown eyes widened. "Did I wake you?"

"Peter, what are you doing?"

"Umm…" he looked between her and the coffee carafe in his hand "I couldn't sleep, this case is tricky. Something just doesn't feel right." He scrubbed his free hand over his face.

He looked at the carafe of water and back at El.

"Thought I'd make a pot of coffee, read over my notes."

He looked at El and back at the carafe. He looked at the carafe and once more at El, the sad, lost puppy dog face firmly in place.

"Oh give me that…"


	2. Second Pot: Neal

Changed my mind. Trying to go to sleep tonight and this just popped in to my head. Peter is just too adorable when he tries to make coffee so I thought it appropriate our favorite conman takes a shot at teaching him how.

* * *

"So Peter I had June get you some of the fabulous Italian roast."

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Well yeah, it's the anniversary of the first time that you caught me so I thought it called for something special."

"Well… umm…" Peter looked down at his shoes, he hadn't gotten Neal anything.

"It's okay Peter, you didn't have to get me anything. So…" two grateful brown eyes looked up in to the grinning face of the ex-conman/partner "are you going to make some?"

Peter looked from Neal to the kitchen door back to the floor. "Oh, well… see… Elizabeth" Peter paused, not quite sure how to explain this next part without Neal laughing at him.

The grin on Neal's face widened, blue eyes dancing with laughter "Don't tell me." He chuckled "She won't let you in the kitchen?"

"No." Peter's head shot up "That's not true."

"Come on Peter, the truth."

Peter grabbed the bag of coffee. "I can go in the kitchen. It's my kitchen too." He pushed the door open. He took a step in, holding the door open, swallowing hard.

Neal stepped around him. "Do you have a grinder?"

"Yeah, it's a… it's" he waved his hand vaguely towards some cabinets "over there."

Peter stepped towards the coffee maker. Neal let out a short laugh.

"You don't even know how to make coffee, real coffee do you?"

Peter looked at the coffee maker and then at the coffee grinder in Neal's hand.

Neal broke into another smile. "Oh just let me do it…"


	3. Third Pot: Hughes

Even the boss, Hughes, can make a pot of coffee.

* * *

He drained the last bit of coffee from his cup and sat back, he was getting know where fast with this investigation. He looked at the shiny, thermal cup El had given him for Christmas. It was nice. It would be nicer with more coffee in it. More coffee, fresh inspiration. He rose and went to to the balcony and looked at the break area. Rats!! Empty. It was still way to early, know one else was here yet. He looked at his cup. Desperation was growing in his throat. Come on man, hold it together.

He headed towards the break area, loosening his tie just a smidgen. He passed by the empty desks of his coworkers, fellow agents, friends. The array of cups on each desk was a testament to the affection they all held for this beverage.

He approached the coffee maker. The brown sludge that stared up at him from the bottom of carafe was like looking into the depths of hell itself. All right - you need water and coffee. Simple.

He heard the elevator open and stepped around the file shelf. Hughes, now that man was not only a brilliant agent and superb leader but he could make a wicked pot of coffee.

"Burke" Hughes eyed the coffee pot in the younger agent's hand "you're here early" an eyebrow raised "or should I say you're here late?"

Peter let a small smile lift the corner of his lips, his eyes sparkled in anticipation of Hughes making a new pot of coffee. "Early sir." He let the pot dangle in his hand. "We got some new leads on that bond forgery case. I think it could be the same guy we suspect in that art forgery scam from last year." He brought the pot back up, hoping that while he talked it had magically filled with the delicious hot liquid refreshment which he so desperately needed.

Hughes let his pale blue eyes scan his agents face "Do you need some help?"

"Oh no sir, we're pretty sure it's Caffrey…"

"I meant with the coffee pot you're waving around" he reached out his hand and waved it in a 'gimme motion "let me have it."


	4. Fourth Pot: Elizabeth

I couldn't resist another pot with Peter and Elizabeth.

* * *

She reached out her hand and felt the emptiness beside her. Peter must of left early. Not unusual he had been working on 'The Caffrey Case' for two years now. She blinked open her blue eyes - it was her birthday. She held her breath - she could hear him downstairs. It had started when they were dating, he would make her breakfast - the man could make some of the best blueberry pancakes but… well, let's just say his ability to work in the kitchen did not come close to his abilities as an FBI agent.

She pushed the covers back and got out of bed, wrapping her robe around herself as she headed down the steps. She heard him grousing and then the shattering of something glass.

She rolled her eyes and quickened her pace. "Peter? Honey, you okay?" She asked as she pushed open the kitchen door.

"Uh, yeah El… everything's fine." He looked up as she stepped into the kitchen.

She let her gaze wander across her once clean kitchen and let them come to rest on her husband, standing there with his brown hair all akimbo, bare chest covered with flour, black socks, and the heart shaped silk boxers she had given him for Valentine's Day. Her mouth twitched into an involuntary smile.

"Pancakes are just about ready but…" he looked at the broken coffee cup that laid at his feet, the pot in his left hand "I… well, I hadn't started…" he shrugged his shoulders.

She remembered the thick black viscous liquid he tried to pass off as coffee that she had forced herself to drink for three years straight on her birthday before she started getting up with him so she could make it.

She took another look around the kitchen and when she looked back at him two pleading brown eyes looked back at her. The coffee pot quivered in his hand.

"Let me have it…"


	5. Fifth Pot: Jones

In 'Bad Judgement' Jones intuitively knows that Peter is clueless when it comes to making coffee. So this is a small scene from some time in the past where Peter reveals his inability.

* * *

"Hey Peter" Jones eyed the coffee pot in the older man's hand "you're here early."

"Oh yeah" He let his eyes drift slowly to the pot in his hand "working on the Redman case." He looked back at Jones, an intelligent agent and quick learner. A small plead for help shadowed across his face.

"Any progress?" Jones asked, he had never seen Peter make coffee, could he?

"No. Started back… let me make this coffee and I'll show you the file." He turned his head towards the cabinet "Umm… do you know if they moved the coffee? I can't…" He carefully held the pot just a little closer to Jones.

Jones bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. Here stood one of the top agents in the white collar division - catching forgerers, art thieves, scammers, swindler's and an array of others but he couldn't make coffee?

"Here," Jones reached out for the pot "let me get that."


	6. Sixth Pot: Mozzie

Time for another cup o' joe, this time with Mozzie's help. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews.

* * *

Peter pulled the door open.

"Neal, I…" the next words came to a halt when Mozzie realized it wasn't Neal but Peter standing at Neal's threshold. He quickly dropped the hand with the papers he was going to show Neal behind his back.

"Oh, hey Suit. I guess Neal's busy. I'll just…"

Peter reached out and grabbed the shorter man by the sleeve. "No, come on in and wait. I insist." The corner of his mouth curling into a hopeful smile.

"Oh, well if you insist." He let Peter drag him across the threshold and when he had released his arm he took a step back from him.

Peter closed the door and turned towards him. "I was waiting on Neal, thought I'd make a pot of coffee." He looked at the pot in his hand then back at Mozzie, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Mozzie looked at Peter, pretty sure he was trying to figure out something he could arrest him for, then he caught how the pot seemed to be edging towards him. "So, no clue where Neal is?"

"No." Peter looked at him again then to the small kitchen area off to his right. "Thought he was with you when I didn't find him here." He wiggled the pot in his hand. "Maybe I should call the marshal's office, find out where he is?" He shifted the pot from one hand to the other.

Mozzie just watched, somewhat fascinated that the man who had caught Neal Caffrey - a man he considered to be a genius in the realm of forgery, cons and schemes - apparently was trying to get him to take the coffee pot from him. He took another small step back.

Peter just looked at him, trying to give him his most intimidating FBI stare. Sensing that the little man wasn't going to fold as easily as some of his co-workers he made a move towards the kitchenette. "You're out and about early." He stopped and turned back.

"Yeah, well I needed to talk to Neal about…" he had been so thrown by Peter's presence and Neal's absence that he almost blurted out why he was here "about playing parcheesi tomorrow night with June." A sly smile crossed his lips.

"Uh-huh" came Peter's reply, almost a grunt really. He turned, finished the walk to the sink and set the coffee pot down on the counter, pushing it ever so slightly towards the coffee maker. He opened a cabinet, "Any idea where Neal keeps the coffee filters?"

"No. I make it a habit not to invade others private spaces" and then under his breath "unlike some people who work for the big semi-quasi militaristic…" stopping when Peter turned back to him, a scowl creasing his brow.

"What?"

"Oh nothing. I was just saying that I should really go ahead and get going." He made a step towards the door but before he could blink Peter moved swiftly in front of it.

"No, let's have a cup of coffee first, chat a little, talk about the upcoming parcheesi match with June." He placed his hand on Mozzie's shoulder and propelled him towards the kitchen area.

"Right, the parcheesi match. Well…" he stopped as Peter began opening and closing cabinets, none to quietly at that.

Peter placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward, eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. He so didn't want to ask Mozzie for help but he was getting desperate.

Mozzie's eyes twinkled as he watched Peter struggle with whether or not to ask for his help.

Peter turned towards him, his mouth set into a small frown, brown eyes begging for help. "Ummm… you wouldn't happen to…" he stopped.

Mozzie held his breath, waiting expectantly for the rest of the question.

Peter started over, voice growing a little gruff with frustration "Would you mind… well Elizabeth doesn't usually let…"

Mozzie couldn't stand it anymore "Fine. Just let me do it."


	7. Seventh Pot: Elizabeth

This is a short missing scene of sorts set in 'Hard Sell'. I just thought the way Peter answered Neal's observation on having better coffee.

* * *

"...Why don't we meet at your place?"

"My place?"

"Yeah, it's a little late for the plain bureau walls, besides you have better coffee."

"Yeah, I do."

Peter snapped the phone shut, staring at the file still on the table in front of him. Well, yeah there was better coffee here but that was only because El made it. I was going to be one of the first to admit - I made lousy coffee. Oh, but the stuff El brewed, it was heavenly. It was if the Gods had descended and given their blessing to the aromatic beans. He looked up at the sound of Elizabeth coming down the stairs. He rose to meet her.

"Hey, hon sorry" He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. She snuggled her head into his chest. "Neal called."

"What's he doing out at this hour?" She mumbled sleepily into him.

"Well, he's on his way over to work on this case. I need to call Jones. Go on back to bed, I'll make sure we stay quiet." He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

She nodded and turned back up the stairs. He wanted to scream after her, beg her, fall to his knees - please come make some coffee! Be strong, you - Peter Burke, Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the man who had caught Neal Caffrey, not just once but twice; surely you could make a pot of coffee. He shook his head as he turned towards the kitchen. Who was he kidding?

He slowly pushed the kitchen door open, maybe El wouldn't mind? No, I can't wake her up just to make some coffee. That's selfish, se deserved her sleep but maybe…

He looked at the coffee pot, it stared back at him like a Cyclopes. It's cruel and forbidding gaze sent a small shiver through him. He edged closer, fingers tentatively brushing the cold plastic handle. He gulped. Maybe if I promised her a trip to Hawaii? The Fiji Islands? Any place just… he sighed… I don't want to make a pot of coffee. El's coffee, he could taste the sweet beverage crossing his lips. He licked his lips.

He opened the cabinet. Filters, check. See you can do this. Okay, does El grind the beans or is there a can in the fridge? Grinding coffee beans at this hour would surely wake her, use the stuff in the fridge. He crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator , it gaped at him like a giant whale waiting to suck him in to it's dark belly. He shook his head to clear it, sheesh, what is wrong with you. He found the bag of coffee and quickly shut the door.

He headed towards the coffee maker, the kitchen door pushed open, El was pulling her robe around herself, face still fresh from sleep. He let out a grateful sigh. She looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, the anxiety rippling in the depths of his brown eyes, the small beads of perspiration on his brow.

A hand reaching forward, as if to save a drowning man, "Let me get that."


End file.
